Onyx Eyes
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: Jack finally finds an animal he can get along with- but can anybody else? Written for the Prompt Challenge at POTC Fest. Rated G one warning inside.


_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_Warning: This story might not be enjoyable for persons with acute ophiophobia._  
_If you don't know what the word means, you probably have nothing to worry about._

xxx

"Would you say this qualifies as 'put out to sea', Mr. Gibbs?"

Big Sloane asked the question through an easygoing grin. The strapping young redhead was not much newer to the _Black Pearl's_ crew than he was to seafaring, and prone to joking about his inexpertise.

First Mate Gibbs checked the Guyana coast, now shrunk to a green band on the horizon. "Aye, it does. Let's just get these lines tightened afore we approach the Captain."

The two glanced towards the helm, where Jack Sparrow was cheerfully manning the wheel. His overcoat was still buttoned to the neck, as it had been since his return from the port markets. Beneath it, the girth of his chest seemed to have expanded.

"Do you suppose he's been to some jungle witch who's conjured him up to proper Pirate size?" Sloane speculated, as he gave his rope a final tug.

Having observed a vague movement or two under that coat, Gibbs had his own theory about what was underneath. "Best way to find out is to ask."

They both headed aft to stand below the quarterdeck. The remainder of the equally-curious topside crew soon joined them.

Gibbs called up. "Cap'in? Perhaps now you could tell us what's this 'fair an' beneficial item' you've brought aboard."

"If you really can't wait any longer." Jack blithely relinquished the helm to Mr. Cotton, moving to the top of the quarterdeck stairs where the expectant pirates could see and hear clearly.

"I've taken note of yer numerous complaints about the regrettable overabundance of rats currently makin' their presence known aboard the _Pearl_." The crew rumbled confirmation. "So, I made a point to acquire a solution to that distasteful circumstance." Jack lifted both hands to his neck and began undoing his collar buttons.

"I knew it!" Gibbs chortled to himself.

With his usual flourish, Jack released the final fastening and threw his coat wide open, revealing the hidden source of the added bulk.

It wasn't what Joshamee had expected. Nor anyone else, to judge from the way half the audience stepped back, and a few yelped. Big Sloane, falling back on old ways, hastily crossed himself. Behind the wheel, Mr. Cotton's parrot flattened down his feathers and pressed close against his master's head, both of them wide-eyed with alarm.

The stalwart Gibbs did none of these things, but his voice got a bit tight. "What... is... that?"

Marty, one of the few crewmen who hadn't so much as flinched, answered matter-of-factly. "It's a red-tailed boa constrictor."

"Well spotted, Mr. Marty!" Jack confirmed cheerfully. His own gaze was fondly regarding the thick-bodied serpent draped around his neck. "A beast with a hearty appetite fer all things rodential, I'm told! An' a right bonnie lass, eh?"

Anyone viewing the animal objectively might have agreed. The snake was well over an armspan in length, with a flat triangular head and eyes like onyx marbles. A charcoal-gray tongue flicked curiously from the notch at the front of her mouth. Her background color graduated from pale tan at the head to rusty brown at the tail. Deep-brown patches masked her eyes, and marked a permeated-ladder pattern down her back. A rainbow of prismatic colors shimmered along her sides, where the sunlight hit her scales just right.

But not many of the crew seemed inclined to take an objective view.

Jack, finally noting their less-than-enthusiastic response, regarded his men with perplexed disappointment. "What's the matter with ye lot? I knew you were disreputable miscreants, but never took ye fer lily-livered curs! A boa's not venomous- got a powerful squeeze, aye, but this one hain't big enough to endanger the smallest among ye! Surely you fearsome brigands possess the courage an' fortitude ta share a portion of yer shipboard space with her!"

This statement provoked even more anxiety. Gibbs' tone was perilously high-pitched. "Sir, you're not thinkin' of turning that thing loose aboard the _Pearl_, are you?"

"Of course I am! How else is she supposed to catch rats? Or were you planning ta serve 'em to her on a plate?" He scowled at his unappreciative crew, whose expressions currently ranged from bemused to horrified. Singling out the ship's cook- a portly dark Cajun whose slack jaw was flashing teeth as white as his eyes- Jack cajoled, "Now I know you can give yer new shipmate a better welcome 'en that, Mr. Le Blanc. I recall how you insisted, in the most fervent an' unmistakable terms, that somethin' had to be done about the thievin' pests infesting your gallery."

Le Blanc carefully wet his lips before answering. "Capitaine, I had in mind you would mebee provide... what you call?... a chat."

"This is much more better than a cat! Whatever a snake catches she swallows whole- no half-eaten carcasses left fer us to step on unawares!" With sour recollection, he added, "Nor will she take it into her head ta whelp a litter of kittens in a drawer containin' me best silk shirts."

Pintel muttered, "Better solution is ta make sure you get a tomcat."

"**What Was That**?"

"Nothin', Cap'in!" Quickly switching the subject, Pintel inquired, "Beggin' yer pardon, but how do you know it's female?"

Ragetti chirped up. "From the shape of the tail. A male's is thin and pointed. This one's is short and blunt." The snake's other end- the wedge shaped head- dipped as if in confirmation.

"Kudos to you as well, Mr. Ragetti! This is indeed a she-snake, whom I've named accordingly. You are to address this fine wench as 'Lady Macajuel'- I always fancied that name." Jack swept a warning glare over his crew. "An' I expect every man-jack of you to treat her as that title dictates! If I catch anyone harmin' so much as a scale of her, there'll be a keelhauling in short order! Are you pestilent rotters entirely clear on that?"

The pirates nodded uneasily. They were used to their Captain threatening harsher penalties than he actually inflicted. Still, he was clearly serious about protecting his new pet.

Sparrow descended to the main deck and marched to his single-orbed crewman. "Mr. Ragetti, I know you're not fearful of things serpentine. I observed how ya stood right next ta that pale specimen in Tia's shack with nary a qualm."

Ragetti shifted his feet. "To tell the truth, Cap'in, I had me eye on somethin' else at the time."

"No need to be modest, lad, you've displayed the necessary fortitude. Therefore I'm putting you in charge of keeping everybody reminded: the Lady is off-limits."

"Aye-aye." Ragetti seemed uncertain whether this was an honor or a punishment. Pintel's glower suggested he was sure what it was.

Jack turned attention to the snake, transferring her from his neck to his forearms. "Your turn to receive orders, crewmember Macajuel. This be a Pirate Vessel. Ergo: you are now a Pirate Snake. It's the business of pirates to take prizes, and that's yours!"

He pointed towards the starboard railing, and the disheveled brown creature skulking along it's base. Lady Macajuel flicked her forked tongue at it, obviously interested. The rodent, undesirous of such interest, promptly bolted down a gnawed hole in the deck.

"Now go get that scurvy rat!" Jack loosened the snake and gave her an encouraging push. Lady Macajuel, either very hungry or very anxious to get under cover, crossed the dark boards as quickly as her bulk allowed, sending crewmen fleeing to either side. As she vanished down that same hole, Jack pronounced, "Mark my words, gents; within a few days we won't be seeing nearly so many pernicious vermin. Other than yerselves, that is," he added with a frown. "Now all of you get back to yer stations!"

The pirates scattered to their posts. Several practically tiptoed, as though a misstep might bring a slithering fiend bursting up through the floorboards. Muttering about ungrateful maggots spoiling his lovely surprise, Sparrow resumed his place at the helm.

Mr. Cotton looked the most nervous of all, as he descended to the main deck. "Raaawk! Red sky at morning, sailors take warning!" his parrot squawked.

The First Mate was inclined to agree. "'Tis probable enough, bringin' a snake aboard is bad luck. Can that daft man never do anythin' in a normal manner?" Gibbs grumbled as he returned to his ropes. "After years of clashing with every beast ta cross his path, Jack finally meets a critter he gets along with... and it has ta be somethin' of that ilk!"

x

Through the next couple days, Mr. Ragetti did a lot of running. Whenever a startled shriek pierced the ship (which, for a while, seemed to happen every half-hour or so), he was obliged to hurry to the scene, to make sure no damage was inflicted on any serpents involved. Most of these outcries proved to have other causations; somebody's foot brushed somebody's leg under a table, a dragging belt produced slithering sounds in the causeway, Mr. Le Blanc swore, on his sainted mother's life, that a hanging sausage had moved of it's own accord. None the less, on every occasion Ragetti dutifully repeated the Captain's caveat regarding the sanctimony of Lady Macajuel.

Tensions eased a bit when it was observed that the reptilian rat-catcher was a creature of habit. Only after dark did she venture below decks to hunt her nocturnal prey; through the daylight hours she preferred to stay topside. Being an arboreal species, the boa liked to scale the ratlines and coil around a yardarm to sunbathe. This was rather nerve-wracking for those working aloft, excepting Marty, who scrambled past with barely a second look. Only Captain Sparrow was openly delighted by the sight. He declared, the iridescent black-on-tan loop was the prettiest bangle to ever adorn a ship's rigging.

The Lady soon proved to be smart as well as good-looking. When the _Pearl_ spotted and chased down the Spanish sloop _Castile_, Macajuel wisely descended and slid through the deck hole before the first gun was fired. The rats proved to be wiser still- when the gangplanks were lowered onto the surrendered sloop, a sizable number of rodents swarmed across, right alongside the pirates. And unlike the human raiders, none of these returned to the _Pearl_. The Spanish crew was nearly as indignant about this as about losing their silk cargo. Captain Jack was still laughing an hour afterwards.

The snake reappeared, rather abruptly, during the post-raid celebration. Big Sloane, having downed his extra ration a bit faster than was advisable, stumbled into the lines where Lady Macajuel had begun her ascent. The boa fell squarely atop Sloane's ginger head, catching herself by flinging a coil across the lad's eyes. The panic-stricken Sloane howled and tore across the deck, the flying tangle of seaman and serpent producing a fine imitation of an octopus gone mad. Only Ragetti's hasty intervention saved the two from careening overboard.

The remaining crew roared with merriment, their captain not least of all. Marty managed to disengage the snake from Sloane, and carried the errant reptile back to her doting owner. Jack exuberantly offered his pet a sip from his tankard. Being a refined female, she politely declined.

Declaring the Lady must at least give him a dance, Jack scooped the snake up about his shoulders and proceeded to sashay about the deck with her. The scaly head dipped in counterpoint his swaying, which, like her own, managed to appear simultaneously random and graceful. Moved to song by her beauty, he serenaded her to a tune of his own devising:

_"Beyond the shadow of the ship_  
_I watched the water-snakes:_  
_They moved in tracks of shining white,_  
_And when they reared, the elfish light_  
_Fell off in hoary flakes._

_Within the shadow of the ship_  
_I watched their rich attire:_  
_Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,_  
_They coiled and swam; and every track_  
_Was a flash of golden fire!"_

Most of the watchers agreed it was a spectacle nearly as entertaining as Sloane's deranged dash.

x

So the_ Pearl's_ crew gradually became accustomed to their scaly shipmate. The men started routinely glancing under tables before sitting down, belts and sashes were kept carefully fastened, the cook developed a habit of nudging all sausages with a fork before grasping any. And incidences of rat damage did indeed decline. Either they were being caught or, as Pintel put it, "The wretches are probably afeard to come out of their holes with that demon on the prowl."

Unfortunately all that rat-consumption produced, not only occasional mounds of snake dung in unexpected places, but another inevitable effect. One which became ever more apparent as the weeks passed.

Some two months into Lady Macajuel's tenure, Gibbs made his morning ascent to the deck, and spotted what he initially thought were two boas curled around the base of the mizzenmast. Upon closer exam, the explanation proved no less alarming.

"Mother o' martyrs, that critter is gettin' big!"

That same morning near-tragedy struck. No one saw it coming, but every crewmember working topside, and a good number below decks, heard the bloodcurdling avian scream as Mr. Cotton's parrot shot straight up from the aft deck, where his owner had been pumicing planks. The frantic bird flew to topgallant height, trailing bits of blue and saffron, and began circling the ship shrieking "Storm Upon Us! Storm Upon Us!"

One glance below told the story. Lady Macajuel, still coiled around the mizzenmast, now had several azure feathers protruding from her mouth.

The agitated bird finally lit on the rim of the crows nest, wings still flapping. Mr. Cotton hastened aloft, climbing fast as a man half his age. The topside crew cut eyes- they knew a line had been crossed.

Joshamee looked to the helm, where the Captain was pouting mightily. Very reminiscent of a little boy who hoped an undesirable situation would go away if he pretended he didn't see it. Knowing it was time to play the role of Firm Parent, Gibbs climbed the quarterdeck stairs.

For a long moment he just stood beside his petulant commander. They watched Cotton clamor into the crows nest, taking the still-frightened macaw into his arms and petting it back to calmness. Gibbs spoke somberly.

"Cap'in, this ain't a situation you can ignore. That bird is more'en Mr. Cotton's pet, it's his only connection with the speaking world. His acquisition of that creature was nothing short of a miracle- it'd take another fer him to find a replacement."

"Lady Macajuel doesn't understand that!" Jack protested. "To her, a bird is a bird is a bird. 'Tis simply her nature to hunt 'em."

"Aye- that's exactly the problem. Theer's no way we can ever train her ta leave it be. And you can't be comin' across as indifferent to the welfare of the men, Jack. That's how the rumbles of mutiny get started."

Sparrow seemed genuinely shocked. "Mutiny! Over a bonnie wee serpent?"

"Wouldn't be the first time a serpent's made a lot of trouble, would it? Bonnie as this one may be, she's not so wee as when ya first got her. An' that's only going to get worse. I've done some conferring with Mr. Ragetti- snakes keep growin' fer as long as there's life in 'em and food to be found. By this time next year, Lady Macajuel could outweigh Mr. Marty."

The Captain was looking more unhappy by the minute, but Gibbs persisted. "I really think you should consider givin' the lass an onshore retirement. We could find some nice forested island an' turn her loose..."

"No good! She's been around humans too long- she wouldn't know to keep a distance! How long do you think it'd be before someone...?"

Jack cut himself off, fingers tugging his beard as he pondered a possibility. "But, some folks are more tolerant than others, aren't they?" After another few minutes of consideration, Sparrow regretfully, but determinedly, spun the wheel to turn the _Pearl_ to port. "If my Lady really must quit this ship, I know a place where she should be safe."

Gibbs was very relieved Jack hadn't put up more resistance. "You've made a fair decision, Captain. Mr. Cotton will be most glad to hear it." That crewman was now carefully descending the ratlines, the parrot clinging tightly to his shoulder. "So where is it we're headin'?"

"Montserrat. 'Tis only a short meander off our course- we should be there by tomorrow afternoon."

x

Early evening was Vicar Gregory's preferred time to weed his small vegetable garden. It was rather a fatiguing chore at the end of a workday which began well before sunrise- one he'd happily pay a parishioner to do. But his parish was chronically underfunded and that situation unlikely to change. He was hardly a favorite with the church elders. Even so, Gregory did not regret this assignment. Montserrat was a lovely verdant island- very close to how he pictured Eden- populated with lively and imaginative people. His small flock took no offense at his ready laugh, nor the 'insufficient adherence to dictum' which so annoyed his superiors. There were definitely worse places for a clergyman with a sense of humor to pursue his vocation.

With a tired but contented sigh, Gregory finally arose, clapping the dirt from his hands. A cooling breeze ruffled his thinning sandy hair as he made his way, humming, to the front of his parish cottage.

There he was brought up short. A lean, outlandishly dressed figure was lounging beside the front entrance, one boot planted against the whitewashed doorpost. The figure tilted his tricorn hat, teeth flashing a distinctive grin. "Evening, Vicar."

"Good evening, Captain Sparrow." Gregory's tone was friendly, if a bit guarded. Though he was rather fond of Jack (a former colleague), the clergyman rarely felt completely at ease in his presence. He'd long suspected God had sent Jack Sparrow into his life to act as his unwitting spiritual provocateur- always forcing the Vicar to re-think his concepts of what defined virtue. Being a pirate, Sparrow undoubtedly committed sinful acts on a regular basis. Yet the man was also capable of performing admirable deeds- even putting himself at risk to do so. Which was more than many who inhabited respectable society seemed willing to do.

As the Vicar didn't feel like pondering that conundrum just now, he simply asked, "Are you in need of aid, Captain?"

"Yes, in a manner if speakin'. Though on this occasion, it could be of mutual benefit. I have this most efficient ratter, currently in need of a new home..."

"You mean, a terrier?"

"... an' I figured, what better place fer her than yer own small domain, which- now don't take this the wrong way, Vicar- is more'en likely to be plagued with vermin?"

Gregory grimaced. "I do, indeed, have difficulties with rodents devouring the livestock fodder."

"Then surely I can trust you ta provide proper housing to a poor beastie who'll help alleviate that problem."

Gregory felt on safe ground here. "If it is within my power, of course I will."

"I thank ye kindly!" Gold flashed in Jack's hand as well as his mouth, as he swept forward to press four guineas into the Vicar's garden-soiled hand. "Take this fer yer trouble. Not that Lady Macajuel - that's her proper name- should give you much; jus' have a care not ta step on her. I've taken the liberty of puttin' her into yer cow shed, ta get the residents accustomed to her presence. An' I'll try ta stop by now an' then, ta see how she's doin'. But fer now I must catch the tide. Much appreciation, Vicar. Au revoir!"

With a lift of jeweled hand and a swirl of overcoat, Jack Sparrow turned and sauntered off into the dusk, cheerily singing a verse from 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.'

Vicar Gregory almost forgot to call out thanks for the contribution- his foremost thought was that he'd better take a look at this 'poor beastie'. He made a quick trip indoors to fetch a lit oil lamp, before hustleing out back to the cow shed.

Four lean bovines lowed their greetings as he opened the shed door. Raising the lamp, he immediately spotted a gleaming mottled mass, coiled around one of the milking stools. For several seconds, the two stared at each other- beady brown eyes meeting wide hazel ones. Then the good Vicar began to chuckle.

"Jack, Jack... if you were just a little more serious, you could be God's own jester." The boa's forked tongue made a slow vertical flick, as if she were sharing the joke. Having established the snake's presence was not disturbing the cows, Gregory addressed her respectfully. "You are most welcome to my humble estate, Lady Macajuel. I shall introduce you to your fellow workers come morning. But for now, I'll leave you to settle in."

Gregory closed the shed door and returned to his cottage. He must, indeed, point out the new rat-catcher to the milkers, before they stumbled across her unexpectedly. He'd given his word to keep Lady Macajuel safe and intended to do so. After all, every Eden needed a serpent.

Still chuckling, the Vicar picked up the Coleridge poem where Jack had left off:

_"O happy living things! no tongue_  
_Their beauty might declare:_  
_A spring of love gushed from my heart,_  
_And I blessed them unaware:_  
_Sure my kind saint took pity on me,_  
_And I blessed them unaware."_

_xxx  
_

**FINIS**

xxx

_'Macajuel' (pronounced mah-cah-well) is the Trinidadian name for the boa constrictor._

_The verses Jack and Vicar Gregory sing are from 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, one of the few works of classic English literature to feature snakes in a positive role._

_In case anyone is wondering: I have two beautiful pet corn snakes- Sequoia and Alabaster- whom I frequently serenade._


End file.
